


Hexed

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alley Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Meetings, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: Greg Lestrade learns of the existence of demons the hard way.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yeomanrand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/gifts).



> Thanks to L for betaing, and to Yeomanrand for giving me a reason to write this pairing!

He'd been going home.

Greg Lestrade had been going home. He remembered that. He remembered a lot of things. His name, his rank, what he'd been doing right up until the moment the man-no, the _thing-_ had taken him by the shoulders and breathed into his face.

Now-

Now he was bloody useless. 

He'd run. The-whatever the hell it was-he was well clear of it. It was clear he'd been drugged. But what kind of drug did _this?_

Lestrade's world had condensed to one thing. One _want._ He could hardly walk without embarrassing himself. He'd managed to duck into an alley behind-did he even know where he was any more? All he'd wanted was some relief, but using his hand gave him nothing but frustration. He was hard like a teenager, and more desperate than he'd ever been in his life.

His mind was increasingly blinded to anything but his aching body. Almost all that was left was his painful, aching need.

A bar. He could go to a bar. Find someone. Anyone. 

Because a fifty-something man sweating like a bloody dog could pull anyone he wanted.

_Christ._

He put his back against the brick wall and tried to breathe.

There was a voice approaching, a man's voice, tenor, and maybe Lestrade would have found anyone attractive at this stage, but he sounded-

Lestrade pressed his back against the wall and tried to force his mind back in order, hurriedly pulling his clothes back into shape. There wasn't much left, but his pride remained.

"You're certain it's secure," the man said, his voice coming closer with every step. "And you didn't-what? It's already-well. Yes. Change the search parameters. There's someone out there it marked, and they'll be desperate by now. You all know what to look for. Yes, precisely. Thank you. Yes, if I see anything, I'll let you know-"

That was the moment when he noticed Lestrade.

The stranger was tall, just over six foot. Perhaps a decade older than Lestrade, but no less handsome for it.

On an ordinary day, he would've caught Lestrade's eye. Now he was-

"Never mind," the man said into his phone. "I've found the victim."

Lestrade's brain was still whirring in lust-addled circles, but he wasn't _wholly_ incompetent. Not yet. "What the hell's going on?"

"You've been dosed with-" The man put the phone back in his jacket (well-tailored, tweed). A bit still alive in the back of Lestrade's brain wondered if dressing like a stereotype was a deliberate choice. His clothes might have been clichéd, but the rest of him looked better as he got closer.

Much better.

The stranger tried to keep his eyes on Lestrade's face, a courtesy Lestrade later remembered to appreciate. "Well. I suppose you have the general idea of what you were exposed to."

"What _is_ it?" Lestrade managed to ask, through gritted teeth.

"I'll explain it all, but-I'm not sure it's worth doing so, in your current state. I know it's difficult to concentrate right now."

Lestrade couldn't argue with that. "Can-can you-" It was hard to even speak. "Can you fix it?"

"Fix?" the man said. "Not-No. Not really." His eyes were on Lestrade now, his mouth, his eyes. "I can take you somewhere safe, until it fades."

"How long?"

"Twelve to eighteen hours." He hesitated. "At a minimum."

Twelve hours. _Minimum._ Impossible. Unbearable. " _Hours?_ Christ, I have to _work_ in the morning." Lestrade arched back against the brick. He should have had shame, but it had burned away ages ago.

The man was close now. Too close, achingly close. Too handsome. "No," he said, a bit reluctantly. "It's not the only way. I can't-"

Lestrade closed his eyes. It was so much worse with someone near him. So much worse when he could feel the closeness. Almost touch the tweed. Almost smell him. "Please," he said. "Anything."

"Under different circumstances," the man murmured, "this would be a pleasure."

Lestrade bit back a scream as the stranger's hand stroked him through his trousers. _Christ._ The need burned through him, screamed through him, but the touch-

God, it was _everything._

Lestrade forced his eyes open as the man unbuttoned his flies, got his hand in, jerked hard, fast-

His free hand stroked Lestrade's face, gently, so tenderly it made Lestrade gnash his teeth in frustration.

Whoever the stranger was, he was handsome on a bad day. On a night like this, he was bloody salvation. Lestrade reached up, took the man's face between his hands and crushed their mouths together, tasting mint, stale tea. Smelling aftershave and old books. He'd always gone for brains. Just not quite like _this._

The man's glasses knocked loose; Lestrade heard them clattering to the ground. _Probably want them back at some point,_ he thought, because his brain was functioning again, just a bit. "You," he said. "Christ, you-"

"Giles," the stranger said, and his breath was coming fast now, too. "My name is Rupert Giles."

"Greg," Lestrade said, and kissed him again. He was burning, burning everywhere, but there was relief here. Pleasure. Enough now that he could touch back, more than a kiss, his hand on Giles's back and sliding down to his waist. Belt, flies, _there,_ thick, solid cock in his hand. "All right?" he asked, gasping for breath as they parted.

Giles nodded, and that was enough, wasn't it? Lestrade kissed him again, and when they parted, GIles's breath was ragged, his hand strong and tight on Lestrade's cock, good, so good-

"Yes," Lestrade said when he came, all his mind would allow.

"Yes," Giles said, and Lestrade felt the man spilling over his hand.

"I'm sorry about that," Giles said, when they'd caught their breath, just as Lestrade said, "Your glasses-"

"Yes," Giles said, chuckling a bit under his breath. "I suppose I should-"

They found them, after an embarrassed minute of careful work in the dark. Giles pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaned his glasses, then did his best with his trousers. He handed the cloth to Lestrade next, and as Lestrade worked they both tried to pretend that shagging total strangers in alleys was the sort of thing they did every day.

Lestrade buttoned his flies. "Demon, you say?" Unbelievable, but of course, so was what had happened to him.

"I'm afraid so," Giles said, and put his glasses back on, blinking a bit. "It's...not the most pleasant way to learn of the supernatural, though I suppose I'd put it above dying." He pulled his phone from his pocket. "I have-I can't linger here. My colleagues have the demon who did this to you in hand, and there are...rituals. Ways to stop him from hurting anyone else. But they must be done quickly."

"This isn't-" _You can't just leave me after this._ "I've-I've more questions, I hope you understand."

"I haven't begun to answer, I realize. I-it's not the sort of thing I intend. But this won't wait, I'm afraid."

Without lust wearing his mind to a nub, it was easier to think quickly. "Dinner, then?"

Giles looked at him. "That-that'd be a pleasure," he said. "I'll-where can I find you?"

"I'm at the Met," he said. "Detective Inspector Lestrade. Just ask."

"Yes," Giles said. "I'll be seeing you."

"You'd better," he said. The madness had passed, as quickly as it had come on. But Rupert Giles was still bloody handsome. "I'm not above abusing my powers, if it comes to that."

The faintest of smiles played at the corner of Giles's mouth. "Perhaps after dinner," he said.

"Come here, then," Lestrade said, and it was a brief kiss, but as good as what they'd shared before. Better, for being an act of will.

"It's been a pleasure to meet you, DI Lestrade," Giles said, "despite the circumstances."

"That it has," Lestrade said, his teeth pressing into his lower lip. "It has indeed."


End file.
